Parum Extraho: Fireheart
by darkmarkgirl
Summary: In the year after the death, Harry must learn to have faith in his friends and Snape to face his abusive childhood. An answer comes for both of them…an answer in the form of a dragon. Dragon!Harry HarrySnape Mentor relationship.
1. Chapter 1

Parum Extraho: Fireheart

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

Warnings: HBP spoilers, violence, profanity. No slash.

Author's note: Welcome to the story! This is something that has been floating around my head for awhile-hope you like it.

Summery: In the year after Dumbledore's death, Harry must learn to have faith in his friends and Snape to face his abusive childhood. An answer comes for both of them…an answer in the form of a dragon. Dragon!Harry HarrySnape Mentor relationship.

(1) From the American version of the Half-Blood Prince, not mine.

parum extraho (little dragon)

Without further ado, Chapter 1!

"Fear is the main source of superstition, and one of the main sources of cruelty. To conquer fear is the beginning of wisdom." –Bertrand Russell

Chapter 1.

_There is no other way._

How he hated those words.

But they were true. Harry sighed, rubbing his bloodshot eyes with his fists. His famous black hair was more ruffled than usual, closely resembling a porcupine's hair, as Fred had commented. Harry's glasses hung from one ear, the other end resting on the same palm as he rested his head on. He was wearing a rumpled T-shirt, in fact the same one he had worn the day before, but that didn't matter to him. There were more important things than dirty T-shirts. As he thought these foreboding words he sat at a desk, his tired green eyes focused on a single piece of parchment being scrutinized by a desk lamp. Quite a bit of ink was strewn across his hands, the product of much muse and thought. Harry was sharing Ron's room as usual.

Ron's bed was vacant. He was down at dinner. Harry sighed and dripped his quill in the inkwell absentmindly, thinking hard.

It wasn't like he _wanted _to abandon them- or possibly neglect them-it was just that he couldn't risk their lives any more. He didn't think he could stand it if one of them, God forbid, died or was grievously injured. The memory of Ron being constricted in coils and Hermione struck down by a Death Eater turned his insides to ice. Harry had to keep them safe. After all, they didn't deserve this. Their lives were interrupted by his frequent run-ins with Voldemort and his Death Eaters, his _love of playing the hero_. If he left now, he could save them. They would forget him after awhile and he would be only a fragment of memory, whisked briefly away by the midsummer air.

_You don't really believe that,_ said a knowable voice in his head.

Harry shook the thought away and grabbed a piece of parchment from the corner of his desk. Silently he retrieved the ink bottle from the nook at the top and plucked a fresh quill from the jar. He dipped in the quill in the ink and tried to think of what to write. Nothing came to mind. A few blots of ink fell with a _drip _onto the parchment, cow black against the pure white surface.

_Drip._

The ink formed small black tears on the parchment. Harry sighed again and ran his hand through his sweaty black hair.

_What to write?_

The wheels in his head were turning slowly, but his heart remained still and cold as stone. He didn't want to write this letter. Harry would give anything, anything at all not to. He wanted to see them again, to live a normal life, or as normal as life could be for him, anyway. Ron's freckly face and Hermione's bushy hair. Anything to hear them bicker as they walked through the hallways at Hogwarts. To sit through McGonagall's Transfiguration class, drawing stick figures of Snape on their parchment. To rest under the old beech tree, pretending to study for exams while Hermione drilled them with exam questions. To have one last kiss with Ginny…

_Ginny. _His stomach turned.

She was a whole different matter. Even Ron and Hermione were in less danger. No doubt that Voldemort knew about his and Ginny's brief relationship. If she left the protection the Burrow provided, they could snatch her up in seconds. She would be in danger because of him. Voldemort would use her to get to him. She would understand in time. Like all the others. He couldn't bear to see her killed.

Harry picked up his quill with difficulty. His hand was trembling so hard the quill shook, spraying more ink across the parchment. All of a sudden facing Voldemort didn't look so difficult. As long as he didn't have to write this stupid letter.

'_But I have to,' _Harry argued with himself. _'They're not safe. It's better if it's just me that goes. If they get hurt…it's my entire fault.'_

Dumbledore had told him that Sirius's death was not his fault…but Dumbledore didn't seem to understand. He hadn't listened to Harry when he had insisted that Snape's loyalties to Voldemort were unwavered, or that Malfoy wasn't planning anything. And his friends had ended up fighting the Death Eaters, and would have probably been killed if it wasn't for the Felix Felicis. And Snape…Dumbledore had died at his hands, how could Harry know for certain that anything that Dumbledore said was true?

At the thought of Snape, Harry's insides burned. The image of Snape blasting Dumbledore over the tower turned into Ron, Hermione, and then Ginny as it often did in his dreams. Determinedly he crushed the quill in his hand, causing the ink to spew over the edge of the parchment and onto the desk, staining the antique wood. Cursing, Harry forcibly etched words into the page:

_Dear Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley,_

_By tomorrow morning I will be gone. I can't tell you where I am going, only that I hope you understand. Please don't come looking for me. _

_I wish I didn't have to do this. Anything but this. But I have no choice. I'll come back when it is all over. Be safe. _

_Love,_

_Harry_

Despite his anger, he could not write as he felt. The second he thought about leaving them washed away his rage and replaced it with a strange longing. As if checking to make sure it was still there, Harry stared down at the few lines scribbled on the parchment. It was enough.

A great sadness welled up inside him. This was it. This was the end. He was doing it alone.

"Harry! Dinner!"

"Coming!" Harry yelled back automatically. Giving the parchment one more glance, he pushed back his chair and hurried out the door. Briefly he wondered if he would be doing his own cooking soon. Harry supposed he would have to get a place of his own, somewhere no one could find him.

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An uneventful sight met his eyes at the bottom of the stairs. The Weasleys, Tonks, Lupin and Hermione were sitting at the table, engaged in the usual dinner activities. Fred's legs were swung onto the table (much to the reproach of his mother), narrowly missing a bowl of steamed potatoes. Lupin and Hermione were deep in conversation at the other end of the table. Mr. Weasley was sitting next to Hermione, reading the _Daily Prophet. _Mrs. Weasley and Tonks were ladling out stew, which happened to be beef tonight.

"Oh…oops!" Harry heard Tonks exclaim as she served some to Bill, and he saw a few chunks slip from the ladle onto Bill's lap. "Sorry!"

"It's alright, Tonks, don't worry about it," said Bill cheerfully, picking up his spoon.

Harry noticed with slight pleasure that Tonks's hair was bubble-gum pink instead of the mosey-brown color. Her eyes were bright and cheerful, and Harry knew that Lupin must have given in. He saw Lupin smiling at him and grinned back, and then much to Lupin's annoyance, gave a cheeky wink. Still smiling, he walked over to where Fred was lounging.

"Hey Harry! What took you so long?" said George from the table, sending him a wide grin. He took note of Harry's wide yawn. "Half awake, now are we? My, my, Fred, we are going to have to change that."

"I'm awake," Harry reassured him quickly. Turning around to make an escape, Harry saw Mrs. Weasley spot him.

"Harry, you must be starving, dear!" cried Mrs. Weasley and she hurried over to him with a big pot of soup and a blue porcelain bowl. "Come now, sit down!"

With the frantic ushering of Mrs. Weasley, Harry joined Ron next to Fred and George. He looked at Ron, hoping to start a conversation, but Ron was staring out the window, obviously not having taken notice of his arrival. Ron's eyes stared listlessly at the moon, and Harry could see impatience on his face. Guilt wormed its way into his insides, making Harry squirm. He could see his friend wanted to leave as much as he did.

"Hey, Ron," said Harry, trying to sound cheerful but instead his voice came out strangled.

"Hi," said Ron tonelessly, the moon's reflection burning into his friend's eyes.

"So...do you—" Harry started, but Ron cut across him.

"I never thought I'd feel stuck in this place," said Ron angrily, running a hand through his flaming hair. At last, he turned to Harry, his face red. "It just makes me frustrated, you know? We could be out there, saving the world from Voldemort and I'm stuck in here helping Mum keep house and avoiding Fred and George's pranks! I hate being the youngest. They think you can't do anything."

"You're not the youngest," Harry said. "Ginny-"

But words caught in his throat and suddenly he was unable to say anything else.

"I mean the youngest _brother_," said Ron. "Ginny, well, no one can compete with her…" Once again Harry found his throat obstructed- "…but five older brothers! I mean, who can compete with that?"

His voice sounded bitter and Harry wondered how long he had wanted to say this. Harry knew it had Ron's minor role in the family had always been a sore spot for him-he never talked about it, and Harry saw no reason for him to try and make him.

"Well, you've done more than all of them," said Harry, trying to reassure his friend. "Charlie didn't save the Sorcerer's Stone."

"You did that-" Ron interrupted, but Harry was determined to have his point made. After all, Ron had did it to him in his fifth year, why couldn't he do the same? He knew Ron was capable of more than he said he was, it was only a lack of confidence that held him back.

"Bill never went down into the Chamber of Secrets."

"I-well-Bill works in a bank!" Ron blurted out, the tips of his ears slowly turning a fiery red. "And he'd really cool, and everything, and he's got Fleur as his girlfriend-"

To Ron's obvious amazement, Harry cracked a grin. "Who's better, Fleur or Hermione?"

Ron's ears turned red. "Well, Hermione of course, but-"

"Third year," Harry continued, "you helped stop Snape from capturing Sirius and I found out about his innocence."

"Not really-"

"Forth year, you helped me learn all those spells for the Triwizard Tournament. Fifth year, you learned a Patronus in the DA as well as other spells. You went into the Ministry with me to save Sirius. You headed Umbridge off; even though you knew you might get caught and expelled. Sixth year, you fought Death Eaters coming into Hogwarts. That's bravery and skill, Ron. If it's not, I don't know what its."

"Harry-" Ron looked highly discombobulated now, and his whole face highly resembled a flaming tomato. "I've-I've always been the sidekick, the one who fights besides you. You're the real hero here; I just help you along the way. You fought over a hundred Dementors at once, stopped Voldemort and his Death Eaters God knows how many times, and is the world's idol. People don't need me."

Harry stopped and looked hard at his friend. Ron knew nothing about what his 'hero work' really was. It was pain, suffering, and the loss of his loved ones. Many times it had been pure luck that had gotten him out of those situations. A part of him wanted to yell at Ron for being so ignorant. Ron had no idea how much he wished to be separated from the prophecy, to live a normal life like Ron and his family. But he couldn't bring himself to say it. Ron looked miserable and hung his head in shame.

"Ron," said Harry quietly, "I wouldn't have gotten through all those situations without you guys at my side. Me, against fifteen Death Eaters?" Ron watched wide eyed as Harry gave a short, dry humorless laugh. "I've gotten lucky. I've always been lucky. You guys are the only thing that drives me on. Ron, you're every bit as important and recognized as anyone else in the DA. When Voldemort goes down, it will be the _people _who killed Voldemort, not the _person._" Harry swallowed-he felt like he had to tell Ron this, but tried to look placid so not to give away his intentions. "Ron-you're like my brother, mate. We're friends. So don't feel like you are inferior to your brothers. You have your own talents, just like them, and we're going to prove it."

Ron's eyes were shocked and wide open, but he seemed to regain his composure. Ron grinned, much more like the Ron he knew. "Thanks mate. I think you're like my brother, too. And we'll go in this together. We'll win this fight, you, me, and Hermione."

The guilt he had felt earlier returned full force, eating away at his appetite. Harry could not stand looking at Ron's jubilant face. Slowly he nodded, and then without looking at Ron, he went quietly upstairs, unnoticed by the happy, uncursed faces enjoying their beef stew.

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His suitcase was packed. Harry had spent the last hour- (being sure to note the door was securely locked) packing his suitcase and organizing his things. Harry had packed five sets of freshly laundered robes, underwear, socks, shirts, and jeans with Mrs. Weasley in mind, sending a sort of strange longing through his heart. Although he despised his hat, like any other boy at Hogwarts, he had brought it along too. It would help disguise his scar. No amount of make up would cover the lightning bolt streaked across his forehead. Harry had even gone so low to sneak into Ginny and Hermione's stores-but with no luck. Not even _Madame Buieller's Ultra White Bleach _would cover the faint red mark. Harry rubbed it irritably, and predictably it did nothing but redden his forehead. He glared at it with remorse. _Stupid scar, _he thought, throwing the cream aside.

Harry's Firebolt was out and ready-he couldn't risk Apparating, especially with the Ministry. They were probably on his tail already. Harry had seen the tall, lanky form of Dawlish peering out at him from behind a building in Diagon Alley the week before. That was partly why his Invisibility Cloak was out and ready, as well. He would have to fasten it with a string around his neck while flying-unfortunately, Moody's comment about it not staying on had proved quite right in his test ride the other night- so Harry had sewn a makeshift string onto the cloak. It nearly killed him to do it, and his craftsmanship was terrible, never having sewn anything before in his life, but was confident he had done a fairly good job. No one would be able to see a small yellow string up in the sky. Harry pictured himself flying under the crescent moon, the silvery cloak flapping at his legs and hair, the fresh night ringing with the sounds of owls and chattering bats. _So stereotypically James Potter,_ a voice whispered malevolently in his headHarry shook the unwanted thought away and began attaching the harness for his trunk onto his broomstick.

Without a guard, he would have to travel at night, which meant sleeping during the day. It would be at least a few days before he reached a safe distance from the Burrow or anyone. Harry was planning to fly out of the country-perhaps to France, Hermione had mentioned it was nice there.

So Harry had worked for another few hours, only stopped by Mrs. Weasley's check up, Hermione's 'good night' and Ron's mumbled 'gbngt.' His packing was finally complete, the letter laid out on the desk with the lamp shining on it, and the remainder of his things packed away neatly in the closet. There was nothing left to do.

"I guess this is it," Harry whispered to himself. He didn't really know how he was feeling. A mixture of sadness and anger was swirling around his insides. Why? He would be back. They would still be here.

Then it hit him.

He didn't want to leave.

Harry would do anything-anything to stay. Anger burned through him, and Harry began to shake with the intensity. How could he betray them like this! How could he leave, especially after what Ron had said about them being in this together? Hermione's horrified, disbelieving face swam before his eyes. Betrayal blazing in Ron's eyes as he stared at the ink-stained note. The sobs of Mrs. Weasley. And Ginny, Ginny's tears…

Harry remembered the night he had come to the Burrow, so vividly that it was like a muggle movie playing before his eyes…

_Harry was walking up the stairs, a tray balanced in his hands. Every now and then his hands shook, as if an invisible shockwave was streaking through his veins. The door loomed nearer and nearer…Harry was reminded slightly of the door in the Department of Ministries he had been dreaming about for months, its lure fascinating but its occupant's adversaries. _

_Harry reached the door. Its outer walls were plastered with posters: **KEEP OUT. DON'T COME IN UNLESS YOU KNOW WHAT'S GOOD FOR YOU. KNOCK OR I'LL SHOVE A WAND UP YOUR-**_

_Harry chuckled slightly at the last one and knocked. His nervousness returned full time as the door swung open and a curtain of cherry red obscured his vision._

"_Yes?" Her face was calculating and showed no expression, only cold observance._

"_I-I've brought up a tray," Harry blundered. "Your Mum said you weren't feeling well and-Ginny-"_

_But at the mention of her name she took the tray from him, and then with a harsh "Thanks" closed the door swiftly in his face._

_Mrs.Weasley's voice carried up the stairs, a mere delusion to his ears as he stood there, her words passing through him as if a ghost had swooped in the room and faded. _

What if he died, and he never made up with her? Would Ginny care, or simply forget him, and perhaps make up with Dean?

_A flower thrown carelessly on his grave…_

No. She wouldn't forget him. He knew it. One day, they would all understand, and they would know why he had to do this.

Harry walked over to the window, trying to keep the faces from intruding in his vision. Fiery scarlet hair swept away the reassuring words on the letter. Leaking eyes washed away the ink inscribed on the parchment, blurring it into sloppy black ink. The beating of his own heart was the answer……would he choose to adhere to its decision?

He stood there, pondering, wondering, the bright orb in the sky his only clue. After what was like an eternity, he brought up his Firebolt to the window. Its fine handle glistened in the moonlight, beckoning to him.

Harry swung one foot over the handle. Hedwig, who he had no choice but to leave behind, surveyed him with her amber eyes as if to say, _It's your choice._

The note was lying innocently on the desk, its black ink twinkling in the lamplight. Harry stared at it. The drops that had fallen onto the parchment were small, round, and circular-like drops of blood.

Harry swallowed hard. Gathering up the last of his resolve he muttered "I'll see you later, Hedwig," and flew off into the night, the twinkling stars his only pathway to his long and bleak future.

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A lady unlike any other ever seen in the Burrow, Ottery St. Catchpole strode up the gravel driveway. Her long, scarlet cloak trailed behind her, causing it to be littered with pebbles and swiped at by thorns growling along the forest. But she paid little attention. Her dark, azure eyes were sternly fixed upon the chicken-like house of the Weasley family, taking it in with cold interest. However stern her gaze was, it had a kindly twinkle to it, as if someone had gone inside there and lit a candle that sparkled and shone. This far-away candle flickered in the dark eyes, reminding you of a stormy sky with lights flitting below.

Quietly, she made her way up to the Burrow. Her knowledgeable eyes took in every inch: the scattered chicken-pens, shrubs neatly tended and blooming vibrant summer flowers, an old shovel leaning against the door. There was also an old broom shed to her right, she examined it briefly, but there were only cobwebs and a few spiders decked on the edges of the interior, waiting for her leave. Silently she closed the door.

She continued on, pausing only at the rustle of trees and the slight creek of a wooden swing. As if expected there, she strode up to the house and stood next to the leafy shrubs sprouting from the walls, invisible as the owl soaring above in the sky. Leaning against the wall, she waited.

The dark-robed lady did not have to wait long. Another minute and the front door creaked open and two people walked out. Two people hurried out of the Burrow, heading towards the lake at the right of the house. The woman did not try to hide herself or communicate with them. Noiselessly she slipped into the house.

A plump red-haired woman was cleaning up the remainder of a meal, occupied by several others. The remainder of the people were sitting by the fire and reading newspapers, putting together various things, or talking. She watched them, quite unnoticed by the happy people chatting on the sofas.

"Ouch! That was my foot!"

"Oh, we're sorry. We had _no_ idea it hurt that hard."

"Do you like diamonds? How about we take a visit to Hogsmede sometime?"

"Alright. But…I want to get his opinion first. He should be a part of it."

"Of course."

"Mum, why does she have to come?"

The woman watched with little interest. It was not until her eyes strayed to the mantle of the fireplace was until her eyes hardened and focused.

On the mantle-piece was a single frame, artificial holly streaming around the edges. The picture's occupants were small and not visible by her distance, but she seemed to understand clearly.

A mop of black hair distracted her thoughts, and the lamplight in her eyes flickered.

Silently, as unwary and indifferent as before, she swept from the room, her scarlet cloak whipping out of sight.

She stepped outside, her footsteps noiseless and almost phantom-like. Throwing back her hood, she reveled a thin, lined face with dark auburn hair ridden with streaks of color. Dark scarlet, emerald, aquamarine, gold and raven streaks ran to the end of her hair, gracing the ends. She was wearing a long, pitch-black dress, identical to the night sky she was standing under. Thick, ugly rings supported multicolored gems, dark and hard-ridden as her stolid eyes.

A storm clouded in her eyes only void of thunder…her black pupils became hard and lifeless, filled with a cold, hard fury…

She threw back her hair. Filled with rage, anger showing in every inch of her exterior, she whispered, _"Amoris!" _

Lightning-white light flew from his wand, streaking out in the forest like a stag on a chase. Weaving in and out of the trees, shooting like a bullet sprang from a gun, it searched for its prey.

The woman smiled chillingly. Amarië pulled her cloak close around her and left, the gravel shifting under her feet the only indication she had ever been there. The Burrow stood as tall and silent as before.

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Harry wiped his eyes as he turned back from the Burrow. He couldn't believe he had really left. Harry was only a few miles from the Burrow, the lake that they usually swam in over the summer. Yet he couldn't make himself go faster.

He turned left and right, trying to make sense of his surroundings. Thick, wet clouds were on every side and he didn't know where to go. It had started to rain only a few minutes ago. Harry's robes were damp and he felt thoroughly miserable. It was no use. He would have to check the map.

Landing, Harry took out his magical compass. Harry mentally laughed at himself; he was as obsessed with Wizarding gadgets as Mr. Weasley was with muggle gadgets. He loved to see how they worked. The magical compass would not only point you in the right direction, but show you a mini-map of the area 100 miles from the person.

Taking out his wand, Harry pointed it at the compass, which was only a smudge in the pounding rain. _"Onncolous!" _Harry smiled as puffs of green crowded the 'North' part of the compass, exhibiting the vast forest behind the Weasley's house. He was a tiny figure floating on a broomstick, moving in the direction 'South'. Ah. So he was going in the opposite direction.

Reaching in his pocket to put the compass away, he felt something wet and soggy. Confused, Harry pulled it out and was disgusted to find that it was the sandwich he had made a few hours earlier. The bread was melting into the peanut butter. _I should probably eat it now or it's going to get all soggy, _he thought. So he took out the sandwich and began to eat, the soggy sandwich a feast for his empty stomach.

Harry leaned back on the tree, watching rain hammer down onto the flooded field. Thunder rolled and lightning snapped across the sky, throwing the shadowy raindrops into a sharp view.

He watched this all nonchalantly, although a separate storm was raging inside him, identical to the battling elements. Part of him wanted to mount his broom and ride back to the Burrow, to unpack his things and join the others for after-dinner tea. He wished he was playing a game of Exploding Snap next to the fire with Ron, like many nights before. Harry shook his head angrily, like a dog trying to rid itself of water. He had been over this before-he couldn't back. Harry felt like an alien race-a race separate from Muggle and Wizard alike. He had always felt this way. Somehow, he would have to go on alone.

But he couldn't help feeling like he was betraying them all somehow.

He didn't know why, but he looked out into the rain for an answer. The steady rhythm of raindrops and the occasional roar of thunder was all he got. Harry peered through the trees, half hoping to see the Burrow. The pig-pen like house wasn't visible through the closely knit knot of trees.

He could still turn back now, and he knew it. All it would take was a few made-up explanations and a quick drying charm. And they could help them. All they would have to do would be careful.

But what had happened last time he searched for a Horcrux…

_And now he fell forward, screaming again, hammering his fists upon the ground, while Harry filled the ninth goblet._

"_Please, please, please, no…not that, not that, I'll do anything…"_

"_Just drink, Professor, just drink…" (1)_

_Snape raised his wand and pointed it directly at Dumbledore._

"_Avada Kedavra!" (1)_

He had done it…despite his confidence in himself that everything would be alright, that nothing would go wrong, Dumbledore had died…no…he would not let it happen to anyone else…

Harry's heart hardened and he swallowed a lump in his throat. No. There was no other way. This was his fight. He wouldn't have them killed. He was going into this alone.

Harry got up so quickly from the ground he was but a glimmer in the sea of raindrops. Every part of his body tensed. That horrible night was replaying over and over in his mind, driving him on. In a separate, deeply hidden part of his mind, Harry thought he heard another voice speak to him, as if reminding him of something important…

"_Yes, Harry, you can love…" (1)_

Harry furiously shook the thought aside, filled with the hurt that Dumbledore's death had brought him. Not for the first time he felt anger at Dumbledore. His love had gotten him nowhere. It had gotten the ones he was close to killed, or injured, or had driven them away. He would do this by himself, alone, without any 'friends'. He knew this now-he was friendless. A horrible thought sprang to mind, feeding off the anger and hurt inside him. Ron and Hermione had never really been friends with him. They didn't care about him. All the times they had mentioned his 'saving people thing'…he bet they were sitting there right now, wondering when he would come back with Voldemort's head on a stake…and then if he did, abandon him, like a tool that had been exhausted of his use.

'_No,' _said a small, reasonable voice in his head, _'They don't think of you like that.' _But the voice was pushed back down by Harry's anger, burning anew deep inside him. Nobody cared for him. Not since they had stuck him at the Dursleys to live a life of abuse and misery. Dumbledore's departure was so sudden, so unexpected, that sometimes Harry expected to see the old face smiling at him from behind the mahogany wooden desk, ready to show him more of the memories swirling in the pensive...

In time, he would cast away his own memories, too…doomed to forever inhabit a prison made of stone, which would serve as the only reminder of the times he actually lived…

And now…he was truly alone.

Harry wandered over to his broom aimlessly, no longer caring about his destination. He knew if he went up in the air he would feel lost in the stormy sky. Never before had the sky looked so big to him. He felt so…insignificant. Without really thinking about it he untied the Invisibility Cloak from around his neck.

_Boom. _Harry jumped, dropping the cloak over his trunk and broomstick. He knew the sound hadn't come from the sky, but it was loud enough to be audible over the regular claps of thunder. Harry glanced hurriedly around; afraid he might see a ravenous animal-or even worse, a werewolf.

_Boom. _He spun around, the sound was coming from behind him…he could hear clashing, thundering and banging as whatever it was came charging towards him…every instinct was screaming for him to run, but his feet seemed to be rooted to the spot. Harry couldn't move. He was frozen by terror, his eyes wide and his body sweating. His eyes darted from side to side, trying in vain to locate the creature. Fear paralyzed him and his muscles fought the terror that was keeping him in place…

It was growing louder…now the ground was pounding, so Harry felt vibrations under his feet as well. A bright light was quickly approaching…cutting obscenely through the blanket of rain and fog, his doom swiftly impending on him…

Harry was no longer held by terror or fear as he stood there, resigned. For a moment he thought the brilliant light was his stag, galloping towards him. He smiled. Maybe this wasn't such a nightmare after all. And if it was real…if Voldemort had finally killed him…it would be quick…at least he was here, alone…

The light was barley three inches from him now. Harry's last thought before it hit him was:

'_What a strange way to die.' _

And then it hit him.

It bludgeoned into him at the force of a thousand elephants, knocking all the breath out of him and sending him flying backwards. The light shattered, breaking into a thousand pieces, each reflecting a broken part of Harry's horrified face. Like a swarm of bees, they gathered together and rushed through his upper torso, coming out to other end as sparkling and bright as before. Harry lay on the forest floor, gasping for breath. His body ached from the fall but otherwise he felt nothing.

He shot up, panting. His body ached from the force of the landing but he was otherwise unhurt. Harry's head was spinning. What had just happened?

Suddenly there was a sharp tingling sensation in his left arm. Harry glanced at it and nearly fainted when he saw what it was. His arm was shrinking, his bones shaping and reshaping. In a desperate attempt to stop it, Harry reached for his wand but was shocked to find he could barley hold it. The same was happening to his right.

"Finite Incantatum!" Harry yelled frantically, hitting his arm with his wand. Nothing happened. The arm continued to stretch and shrink, and the pain in his arm grew. "Finite Incatatum! Finite Incantatum!"

It was useless. Nothing was happening, and with each passing second the pain was increasing. Red-hot spikes were being driven into his arm, and Harry doubled over on the ground, trying to stop the pain. _What was happening?_

And then-he was on fire.

What he was-he didn't know-but he was no longer human…he was reshaping, changing, smells were so much sharper… the pain was terrible…invisible bands in his body twisted and stretched themselves to their limits…it was pain worse, far worse than the Cruciatus Curse…the pain was terrible…

And then as suddenly as it had started it stopped, so suddenly it was as if someone had been cutting off his circulation. Harry lay shaking on the grassy plain, shivering as the cold washed over him.

Still shivering and scared beyond belief, Harry opened his eyes.

Enormous towers loomed over him, their long dark shadows thrown across the grassy plain. What seemed like razor-sharp blades enclosed him threatening to cut into his flesh. The rain had stopped, leaving an artificial darkness that pressed onto him, blinding him and making it impossible to see.

The pain in his arm was still tremendous and his arm was throbbing, but he could move. Slowly he reached the arm up to feel for something, but could feel nothing but grass. Harry could hear nothing but the occasional hoot of an owl or the rustle of leaves. His heart stopped. He was all alone.

Harry had never felt so terrified, alone and in the dark. He shivered. It was getting cold. Never before had he felt so miserable or alone. He was helpless, alone in a dark forest that might stretch for miles and miles. Harry wrapped his arms around himself, trying to gain some warmth. Something large brushed against his body. Harry leapt back in shock-only to carry the same thing with him. He wasn't himself.

And then through the seemly everlasting darkness, a light shone. Harry's heart leapt for the first time in days. His wand! He had lit his wand!

Feeling hopeful, that at last he might find out what was going on and leave this terrifying place, he eagerly strode towards it. His wand was lying in the grass, a pearly white sphere shining from it. As he got closer, Harry could see a small, abnormally shaped shadow growing closer as well.

Finally he reached the wand, and so did the strange shadow. For a moment, Harry stood next to it, confused. Why was it so large? Maybe this was a mind trick-someone playing games on his mind. _Well_, Harry reasoned with himself, _if it's really a mind trick I'll won't be able to pick up my wand. _

Comforted by this thought, Harry stretched out his hand to pick up his wand. His arm protested the movement but was able to grasp the wand tightly.

Harry gasped. The sound echoed throughout the forest, disturbing the unnatural quiet.

It wasn't a mind trick at all-whatever it was. For when Harry went to take his wand; the light threw his arm into sharp relief, revealing the source of the frequent stabs of pain. What was once an arm-was something rubbery, wide and covered in glistening scales-a wing.

Harry stared at it.

And _screamed_.

**I**

So…what's going to happen to Harry? What _did _happen to him? (If you don't already know.) The plot is pretty much planned out, so events should progress quickly. Please take a minute and review, comments and suggestions will be most helpful!

Anything you think will make the story better I would like to hear from you.

Also, I would like a beta for this story. Please email me or tell me in a review if you are interested.


	2. Chapter 2

Wow! Thanks for all the reviews! Sorry it's been like a month…ducks but I've been suffering from writers block, laziness, and schoolwork. I'll get the next chappie up in a few days!

Enjoy!

Happy Halloween!

Chapter 2

Hundreds miles away from the pig-pen like structure of the Burrow was an old, sixteenth century house. It gave more of an impression of an old castle, however. Bricks wound up the sides of the building, creating columns and great spiraling towers that peaked into the clouds. Slittled windows were fitted sparingly alongside its walls, wide enough to just see out of.

Inside this vast structure sat a man. From a first glance, he was no more than in his early thirties. But the lines that were etched into his face told other tales. Age leaked off every inch of his character and a permanent scowl twisted the edges of his mouth. He stared so intently inside the fire it was as if he was bending the flames to his own will.

This man was sunk into a leather armchair next to the fireplace. A small fire was burning inside the fireplace, eating up the minute twigs that were scattered haphazardly. The thick leather absorbed the little heat that was emitted from the fire and the man sat as cold and still as before. It was obvious he was in a bad mood. An empty wine bottle perched on the edge of a table next to the armchair and every few minutes he grabbed for it, only to find there was nothing left.

Although the house was immense, the man had the appearance of a trapped rat. The shutters were closed and wooden boards were fitted tightly on them. The doors were barred against any intruders with heavy padlocks and chains, warning intruders to keep out. Any daylight was shut out giving the room an air of distinct gloom as if a heavy storm cloud was forming. Dark shadows were thrown across the room, bleary because of lack of sunlight. A dull silence seemed to lull throughout the room, the entire atmosphere blanketed by a dour sense of gloom.

_Smash! _A hand whipped out of nowhere and connected with the wine bottle sitting on the table. It crashed to the floor and shattered into thousands of pieces, littering the floor with shards of gleaming glass.

"_Shit!" _The man cursed and clambered out of his chair, his eyes staring unseeingly at the spot where the bottle had been. Angrily he knocked the table to the floor and kicked it drunkenly. The man stepped back, breathing heavily. For several moments he stared at the spot where the wine had been and then, finally realizing it was gone, sank back into the arm chair with a groan. He clapped one hand to his head and shook it like a wet dog attempting to rid itself of water.

The man looked to be one of much loss, not one of victory. For Severus Snape was not one to be defeated. Defeat had never suited him. Throughout his childhood Snape had always pressed on, eager to accomplish more than his peers. No obstacle ever stood in his way.

And now he had conquered the greatest task of all-murdering Albus Dumbledore. If it had been his task he would be reveling in all his glory and finally showing his true worth as a Death Eater. If it had not been for the Dark Lord's determination to revenge Lucius's performance in the Department of Mysteries, he would have been honored beyond all other Death Eaters.

Then why was he in hiding?

Even stranger, it was on the Dark Lord's orders. He had been ordered to take any precautions necessary to hide himself and to ensure that no one in the Wizarding world knew where he was. Snape knew that there was a thousand Galleon price on his head. But the Dark Lord could hide him quite easily from the jaws of the Ministry as little risk. Why had he ordered Snape to hide out here, in a old abandoned manor house?

But Snape had to admit the situation had its advantages. Unownst to the Dark Lord, Draco had not run away after his failed attempt but instead Apparated with Snape to the countryside. Snape had then proceeded to instruct Draco to stay where he was until he fetched him and Draco had agreed with little complaint. An hour later, Snape had set him up in a private room in the old manor, and Draco had been living there ever since.

Before, Snape had looked upon Draco as an accomplice, almost as a son. None other had gone through the same as Snape had as a child. In many ways Draco was similar to him, influenced by his parent's wishes. Draco had always brought a sort of foreign light to Snape's being, a small presence that interrupted his every day stupor. His non-stop chatter and even his childish worries always amused Snape.

But now…Draco lurked silently about the house, undistinguishable from the shadows creeping upon the walls. He had no doubt, the boy was afraid of him. Every time he intruded upon Snape's mood, usually carrying a fresh bottle of wine, his face went ghost white and he spoke little, his lips always trembling. And Snape was worried. The boy had lost his innocence. Whatever that old blubbering fool had said to Draco on top of the tower had obviously messed with his mind, and Draco refused to speak about it.

And Potter….Snape couldn't pretend he hadn't ingrained a few choice words of his own into Snape. Snape's anger rose as quickly as a pot of boiling water, threatening to boil over. His body tensed and the lines etched into his face tightened as a look of rage came over his face. Instantly he felt the need for more wine.

_Blast it…where is that damn boy anyway?_

"Draco!" Snape snapped, talking to the wall in front of him. He heard a soft scuffling of the carpet behind him. Without bothering to look around he barked, "Where's the wine?"

"Here," the boy said softly, and Snape heard a clatter as the bottle wobbled onto the table. Snape's senses sharpened. He had known for some time now that he would have to talk to the boy, and now was as good a time as any. He tensed, trying to sense the moment that Draco would try and run.

No-he couldn't wait any longer. "Draco!" Snape barked, turning around in his chair to face him. With a hint of amusement he noticed the boy halfway through a tiptoe to the door. Masking his face with a callous look, he observed the boy's stricken face.

"P-professor?" Draco stammered. As he turned around, Snape took his pupil's ragged state. There were dark lines under his eyes and his blonde hair was matted in several places.

"Come," Snape said, ignoring that pediment for the moment. "I need to talk to you."

Hesitantly, as if there was anything in the world he would rather do, Draco stepped forward. Snape motioned him impatiently until he was within a few feet of the chair. Draco waited for him to speak, looking as if a bomb might drop any minute.

"Draco," Snape started. As soon as he opened his mouth, Draco recoiled. Ignoring the boy's flinch he went on. "We need new wards."

"What?" the boy asked, staring at Snape. This was obviously not what the boy had been expecting.

"You heard me," said Snape, his irritancy with Draco growing faster by the second. "Over the last few days, the strength of the wards has been deceasing. The spells I put on the house are wearing down faster than I can make them. We need something stronger."

Snape paused and looked at the boy. With a rush of annoyance he noticed the boy seemed to have spaced out, staring blankly into a corner.

"Did you not hear me, Draco?" When the boy said nothing, he went on. "Have you even done anything with that free time of yours?"

"Y-yes," the boy stammered, finally meeting Snape's eyes. Briefly, Snape thought he saw a fleeting smile on Draco's face that faded as soon as it had came. "I've read a lot."

"Well?" Snape demanded. Not that he really valued the boy's opinion, but it was one way of getting him to speak. He continued to stare expectantly at Draco until he squirmed under Snape's glare.

"Um…I've been reading some of your books…" Draco stammered.

"In the library?" Snape's head shot up. A sense of panic rose inside him. That library had served the Snape family for generations, earning them their reputation for apt scholars. He had written his potions book off those shelves.

"Honest, I haven't messed it up or anything!" Draco said hurriedly, cowering. "I was really careful; I always put the books back on the right shelves."

Snape gritted his teeth. While he was glad that Draco had been doing something with his time and not moaning over the old codger's death, he still winced at the thought of anyone touching his books.

"Very well," said Snape. "Go on."

He pretended to listen when Draco went on and on about some book he'd read, and how much he had read it. Mildly he was surprised. Draco had never shown much interest towards books in the past. There was another worry. He was changing. If Draco had been watching himself from a year before, he would have screamed at the resemblance to Hermione Granger.

"…and the most informed researchers to date say that the best defense is that of a magical creature such as a dragon, whose skills are most potent…"

Snape sat bolt upright, his attention finally focused on Draco. The tiredness in his face was gone, and his eyes swam wildly and almost madly from side to side. It was as if an invisible spirit had overtaken him, erasing any rational thought.

_Dragons…_

"Damn you, Tobias!" he snarled, slamming his fist into the table so hard that it shook. A scorching, ringing pain erupted in his hand but he did not cry out, only twisting his face into a grotesque mask. Hatred and rage filled him to such levels that he thought he might scream. Oh, if he could only have his wand right now…

"Professor?"

It was Draco. Snape had not noticed him huddling in the corner during his tirade. Snape could see a look of complete shock on his face.

Struggling to regain his composure, Snape turned back to Draco. "Never mind," he said curtly. "Now, what were you saying about dragons?"

Against his will, he found his interest peaking. A small blue dragon invaded his thoughts. Snape could see its small, oval shaped eyes looking up at him brimming with love and concern…

_No, _he thought firmly to himself. _This is for business only, for protection. I won't let my weakness show again…_

Snape glanced out the window. With a silent spell, transparent shields shone brightly against the vapid walls. Several cracks and fissures were forming on the shield, and pearly white pieces of the magic were silently falling down.

"Well," Draco went on, obviously relieved that Snape was not going to begin shouting again, "according to specialists, dragons the most apt of shield enchanters. Their spells and shields stay in effect much longer than a normal witch or wizards would. But the book also said that dragon's temper can be dangerous, so extreme caution should be used. And they are really big…" Draco trailed off, looking wishfully at Snape. However, there was a determined glint in Snape's eye and Draco knew there would be no convincing him out of it.

"Yes…" Snape muttered, twisting a ring absentmindly on his finger, "that will work…the only question is, where I will find one…"

The sun sunk lower. Somewhere far away, a cry sounded throughout the crimson sky.

0000000000000000000000000

No. It couldn't be. He was going crazy. It was a mistake.

But there was no mistaking it. A feeling of complete disbelief struck him as he stretched out his arm, and the wing rose with it. The moonlight reflected dozens of half moon shaped scales covering his arm. Harry stared at it, completely dumbstruck by the bizarre phenomenon. _What had happened to him?_

He tried to move around, but movement was impossible. The _wings_, or whatever they were, prohibited movement. Harry looked down and gasped softly. His legs were no longer long and dangly but short and stubby sticks, with a claw protruding from each toe. Shaking with disbelief and fright, Harry looked quickly away. Every inch of him was covered in sweat and his heart seemed to be beating a hundred times faster than normal.

Harry looked up to the sky as if searching for an answer. The sky was strong and silent and the moon stayed as calm and tranquil as before, never wavering in its stillness. He searched the sky, seeking for something strange or abnormal. Harry perked his ears-_perked his ears? _but yes, everything was the same, right down to the slight wave of the grass as the nighttime breeze washed over it, and the faint hooting of a far away owl. It was as if nothing had happened.

Quite suddenly Harry felt very alone. He was in the middle of nowhere, sitting on the grass, with a transformed body and wings to match. There was no one there to help him, and he couldn't move at all. Ron and Hermione were at the Burrow. They had probably read his note by now and thought he was miles away. He was more alone than ever before.

Trying to suppress the surge of panic that was rising inside him Harry sat cautiously on the grass. His heart took a small leap of joy as he realized his ability to sit had remained intact. Sitting upon the grass, he tried to think of what to do. He couldn't fly out with his broom and certainly couldn't walk out. He stared angrily at the stubby legs which were two blurs in the darkness. Useless lumps.

Of course, there was the question of how he had gotten them in the first place. Harry sighed and stretched back on the grass, peering up at the starry night sky. His brain was a mess-there was so many questions, so many things that were confusing; he couldn't deal with it all. A lump rose inside his throat, saddening him. If only he hadn't left-if only he hadn't abandoned Ron and Hermione…

With a tired sigh, Harry lolled his head to one side. The stars twinkled overhead as Harry's eyes slid shut and he fell back into the vast night.

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Mr. Brown was quite the expert. Of course, he wasn't the expert at everything, but for one particular thing he was.

This man, while holding a plain and unexciting surname, wasn't any ordinary man. One might judge him from the plain brown suit he wore everyday to work, and look from his briefcase up to his hat and judge him. No one ever gave Mr. Brown a second thought, because in their opinions, he wasn't worth it. Sometimes, when the gossip was dull and the town was silent, a few rude remarks would be thrown his way usually pertaining the sadness of his life and lack of friends. Whenever they taunted or mocked him, he simply ignored them and went on. They took this as snobbishness and thought he was troubled by his situation.

Contrary to their beliefs, however, Mr. Brown was not troubled at all. In fact, he relished in his ability to ward off the nosy and obnoxious townspeople. For he was well used to whispers and stares, and they went with him wherever he went. Mr. Brown had been all over the world, to the far reaches of China and to the border of France.

So he hadn't been concerned when an owl had flown in his window at approximately five-thirty in the morning with an unsealed letter in its beak. With ease he had taken the letter, read it, grabbed his briefcase, and was gone.

The letter read of urgency and much haste on his part. He acted like the man was the most patient man in the world. Strolling through the rolling meadows at his usual leisurely pace, he neared his destination.

It was at Ottery St. Catchpole.

Quickening his steps ever so slightly, he reached the top of a hill. The moon was still full and the trees were thick and bunched together. A slight breeze was playing over the hills and the long thin grass whipped against his knees.

Ignoring the slight turbulence, the man went on with his tie flapping in the breeze. His narrow, cerulean eyes surveyed the path in front of him. Without hesitation, he entered the forest.

Darkness swarmed into him like a pack of bees, blinding him. For a moment the man stood there, taking it all in, and then pulled out a wand and whispered, _"Lumos." _

The wand tip flared brightly, and the man went on.

Deeper and deeper into the forest he went, without any pattern. He zigzagged this way and that, so irregularly that it seemed he was sniffing out his path. The forest grew darker.

Mr. Brown did not appear at all like a normal business man. His plain brown suit was tainted by the forest, and a maniac, hungry glare was upon his face. As he walked, he bared his teeth into a grin and licked his lips. There was a thirst upon his face and an animalistic hunger.

He tore on-pushing branches and vines out of his way. It seemed that he was not even aware of them. His steadfast eyes were fixed upon the path in front of him.

Suddenly, he stopped.

He had reached a clearing-a clearing devoid of trees or darkness. The moon basked the clearing in platinum light. Now more than ever, the wind could be heard whistling across the plain. All was very still.

Mr. Brown dropped the briefcase silently on the ground. He crouched down and undid the latch, revealing a small, folded up box. The edges of his mouth stretched slightly. Without making a sound he took it out and held it in his hands and caressed it gently, as if cradling a small child.

Mr. Brown turned and stepped forward into the clearing. A deranged look passed over his face.

"Now," he whispered. He stepped forwards and slipped the box over a small and barely discernible creature lying in the grass. It whimpered softly but did not wake up. Wearing a satisfied smile, he tucked the folds in and slid the box carefully back into the briefcase. Then, without another word, he disappeared with a small 'pop'.

If he had stayed a moment longer, he would have seen the small flap of a cloak only a few feet away.

**I**

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Well, there it is, hope you enjoyed it! Next-we get to see the Burrow's reaction at Harry's disappearance, everyone else's reaction, and Snape and Draco make a little purchase. Please review!


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

It was a warm and sticky July evening. Despite the atrocious weather, no one seemed to reject their shopping-they continued to swarm around the shops and make their choices while vendors peddled their carts laden with cold drinks.

Diagon Alley was the same. Witches and wizards flocked around the shops, darting in and out to complete their shopping before nightfall. Despite the humid weather, everyone seemed to be in a good mood. The purple Ministry of Magic notices that had cropped up against every store window was hidden by advertisements for sales. People chatted adamantly in the streets, comparing prices and exchanging gossip.

Relief was clear on everyone's faces, and it was obvious that everyone was glad for a chance to get away from the war.

Snape, however, had no chance to escape the dreariness and foreboding feelings that came with the war. Wherever he went, it followed and he could not escape it. It was a fear, forever growing, of things to come, and what would come out of it.

Snape was alien to all the cheerful and relieved faces. A scowl became his face as he and Draco slipped wordlessly though the chattering crowd unnoticed. Their disguises were useless as a dog masquerading as a cat, and they walked through Diagon Alley unnoticed by the gleeful crowd.

"Tell me again why we're here?" came an annoyed voice from next to Snape.

Snape did not reply instantly, but his scowl deepened. "I have told you many times," he answered after a minute of contemplation. "We are here on business."

"What business?" Draco continued, hurrying to keep up with Snape's long strides. "What is it? Does it have something do with the house?" When Snape said nothing, Draco raised his voice and looked appraisingly at Snape.

"You'll see," Snape said curtly, quickening his pace. Draco did the same, his blue eyes narrowing as they darted from side to side with anticipation.

The two wizards wove in and out of the crowd in an almost snakelike fashion. They did not bother to hide their faces. Snape had provided disguises that proved to be most effective, and the passer-bys did not spare them so much a glance as they pushed on.

Snape stopped so abruptly that Draco almost crashed into him. Looking up in mild surprise he asked with the faintest hint of his trademark scowl, "Why are we here?"

The sign above the door read _Magical Menagerie_.

"I've told you before!" Snape spat at him impatiently.

"What-?" Draco asked, his pale blue eyes narrowing in confusion. Then they widened. "Oh-_oh_!"

"Come inside," Snape said curtly, throwing a dark glance at the babbling alley behind them and heading inside. Draco followed eagerly.

The Menagerie was just as noisy as the busy streets outside but filled with squawking, hissing, and barking instead. Snape didn't think there was much difference between the two. However, Snape was no perturbed by the noise and stepped purposefully up to the desk. A small witch stood at the counter with a parakeet resting on her shoulder. She had a small bird treat in one hand and was teasing the bird with it, it occasionally squawked and dove for the treat but she pulled it away. Snape watched with a look of utter impatience on his face until the woman looked up at him.

"Excuse me sir, you'll have to forgive me, Kirbie hasn't been out of his cage for week," she said, smiling up at him. Her voice was honey-sweet and dripped with sweetness. Snape visibly flinched. "Well, what can I do for you, Sir?"

These words seemed to arise Snape from his angry stupor. "Do you," he began quietly, his voice no more than a whisper, "have a more private section? A section with more…dangerous creatures?"

The smile fell off the woman's face. She looked up at him with a terrified expression.

"You want to see him?" she whispered, her hands clutching the edge of the desk. Snape couldn't help but feel perturbed at her reaction.

"Yes," Snape said quietly.

"Very-very well," she said, and motioning for them to follow her, disappeared into a small wooden door that was so insignificant that it was a wonder they could see it at all.

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_Sunlight was stretching its wings throughout the sky, and the lake was radiant with light. As he flew, fresh, cold air flew through his scales, escalating the feeling of freedom. He spread his wings higher, soaring through the clouds and basking in the warmth off sunlight._

_Magic speed him along as quickly as the wind, and he flew over the curved river, feeling the air on his wings. He had never before felt such freedom; he and the sky were one, and the clouds made him invisible to passerby. The only sound was the quiet flaps of his wings, and the soft tingle of magic that sped him along. _

_The warmth of the sun glowed in his heart, everlasting, immortal…_

Whispers grew around him…louder, filling his head with an annoying buzz. Voices filled the room, arousing him from sleep.

"Where did he come from?"

"Such a color…I've never seen it before…"

The voices…why wouldn't they leave him alone? Was it too much to lay here, undisturbed, and go back to the place where he was flying free?

Cautiously, careful not to alert the voices, Harry cracked one eye open.

Alarm bells began ringing in his head. Seized by a sudden panic, Harry wrenched open his eyes only to meet new ones. His heart stopped. Two bright diamond-blue eyes were staring into his, only an inch away.

Harry screamed, scuttling away from the eyes. He shut his eyes tightly, willing for them to go away. They were so huge…shining so brightly…terrifying…

The thing screamed again, its voice so loud that it rang in Harry's ears. He clamped his hands over his ears, willing for the horrible sound to go away. He could feel himself shaking. Beads of sweat began to trickle down his face. What was that…that thing? He huddled in a corner, hoping it would back away. But the monster's presence was stronger than ever, and he could feel hot breath blow onto his face, over and over again. Harry remained in the corner, his legs shaking. His hands trembled as they struggled to support his weight. Cold sweat trickled down his face like drops of rain, and fear roared on through him.

He backed away. He could feel his heart pounding in his ears, and he was helpless to do anything but watch as the monster stepped closer to him, its strange eyes scrutinizing him. The voices started again, louder this time. Strangely, Harry could hear every word the monsters said.

"confused…"

"poor child, must be lost…"

"what fine eyes he has…"

Even in his desperate situation, Harry couldn't help but be confused by this comment. Still shaking slightly, Harry turned around only to meet his reflection in a small mirror hanging on a wall.

There were fine, small bars encaging him in a enclosed space. Everything seemed much taller-Harry had never remembered chairs being so tall. And then his eyes moved down to his own figure.

Harry screamed in surprise. Resting on his head was no other than two small horns. He was covered in mid-night blue scales, and small spikes poked out of his back. A new muscle seemed to be avalible to him-he tried it, and a tail followed his movements. Harry was sure he could hear ringing laughter from behind him, but his shock overcame his integrity. _I'm a dragon._

But before he could make head or tail of this phenomenon, a small tingle made Harry jump. It was the sound of a bell-a familiar sound. With his heart leaping at the prospect of something familiar, Harry spun around. From his position, he could see the figure of a man at the door.

For a moment, Harry stared at the figure at the door. His legs went weak and his head filled with invisible clouds, temporarily blurring his vision. He managed to stay on his feet but his mouth continued to hang open in shock. There was no mistaking the long, greasy black hair of Severus Snape.

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If he had not been shocked, paralyzed, and completely disarrayed with the solution, Harry would have fainted. A horrible, familiar anger overcame him at the sight of his enemy, and Harry wanted to scream at him. But something held him back and he stayed huddled in a corner of his cage, watching silently. Snape approached a large man at a counter that Harry hadn't noticed before. With another thrill of anger, he noticed that Draco Malfoy had entered the room also.

Anxiously, he tried to hide himself. If any of them discovered him now and guessed, he would be doomed. His best bet would be to wait here for Ron and Hermione-

"Good morning," snarled Snape, although his voice conveyed anything but. The shopkeeper looked up from cash register and surveyed Snape without emotion. Something about the man seemed familiar, although Harry couldn't quite place it. "I need a dragon."

"A costly purchase," drawled the man, and Harry saw a flicker of interest upon his face. He rubbed his chin mockingly. "Willing to pay Galleons?"

"I'll pay for quality," barked Snape, apparently loosing patience. "Show me your dragons."

"Very well," the man sneered, and led Snape to a corner of the room.

"A Sweedish Short-Snout, 500 galleons, about a few weeks old," the shopekeeper said. "Quite a bargin, if you ask me." Snape nodded, but Harry saw his dark eyes flicker across the room.

"Do you have anything else?" asked Snape softly, walking over to another dragon that was nearer to Harry.

"Yes, a Russian Wyver," said the man, indicating a dragon. To Harry's horror, it had the face of a snake and sharp claws. Its head snapped around as if looking for prey and Harry noticed the neighboring dragons were keeping their distance.

"No…" Snape said pensively, appearing to think, "I want something more…local."

"Ay, here's a fine Icedrake, hatched only a few weeks ago," said the man evasively, and Harry couldn't help but feel that he was trying to build up to something else. "A fine blue color too, usually they're white." Harry looked at the dragon. It was crouching in the corner of its cage, looking terrified. He felt a pang of pity for the dragon. It was staring at the two men with large pale blue eyes filled with tears.

"No, I want something that can fly," said Snape. Harry watched him move closer…and then he moved directly towards Harry's cage. Harry's heart began beating very fast, and he fought to hide himself, but his bright blue body stood out against all the other dragons. He forced himself not to tremble as Snape leaned over his cage, examining him. Harry bared his fangs. He'd show Snape he wasn't tame. If he bit Snape he was sure not to consider him.

"What is that one?" Snape asked curiously, and Harry could feel the hated eyes boring into him.

"A rare breed, that one is," said the man, and Harry could feel a sneer grow on the man's lips. This was evidently what he had been waiting for. "He's a fine Firedrake, and you know how rare they are." He leered. "A pricy breed, no doubt."

Harry could feel Snape's approval, and tried to look more threatening, baring his teeth at Snape and hissing. Snape paid no attention. "How much?"

"One thousand Galleons," the man said harshly. "Although I was aiming for ten. I'll not take a Galleon less."

Harry saw Snape nod curtly, and then reach into his pocket.

"Will a thousand and five hundred keep you quiet?" Snape said, reaching into his wallet. The man eyed the wallet and Snape appraisingly.

"Very well," the man snapped. "He's a fine catch, so you're getting off easy …"

But Harry heard almost none of this. A strange ringing was in his ears. Someone had just bought his freedom.

He crouched at the back of his cage, ready to bite the man. There was no way Harry was going with Snape…or anyone, for that matter. Harry bared his teeth and fixed his angry eyes upon the shopkeeper. _Just try me…I'm ready for you. _

But the shopkeeper didn't head towards his cage. Instead he reached for something on the shelf. Harry craned his neck, trying to see. And then the man turned around…with a velvet bag in his hands. Harry froze in terror.

_Bag! I'm going to be bagged!_

Overridden with panic, Harry launched himself at the bars of the cage. But the man was quicker-one second he was squirming desperately, trying to get free-and then the next second everything was black, he couldn't breathe-a bag had been forced over his head and around him, and he was left suffocated by the bag, his legs flailing madly-air, he needed air-

"A feisty little one!" the man exclaimed, fighting to keep hold on the bag. Harry continued to thrash, and the man shoved the bag into Snape's hands. Snape merely stared at it. "You still want him, mister?" Harry's heart leapt, and he thrashed harder.

Harry heard Snape whisper an incantation, and his legs froze. "I think I will be able to handle him," Snape whispered, and without another word, swept out of the store, the bag held tightly in one hand and his wand in another.

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Author's note: I'm sorry this took so long-this chapter wouldn't be written. It's short, but I really wanted to get it out and not make you wait any longer. I do already have a beta reader, but am requesting another one as well. This person (preferably) be PI accredited and good in Brit-picks, plot devices, and sentence structure. Grammar I can handle most the time. That would be most appreciated.

Also, I need your decision. I don't like the title of this story-would you rather it be Fireheart, Parum Extraho or a different title completely?

What will Snape name Harry? (If he gets to keep him, that is) I'm holding a vote-it will last a few chapters, and the name I like the most will be chosen.

As always, please leave comments and suggestions!


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: Nope, don't own it, you know the drill.

Chapter 4-The Escape

It was pitch-black inside the burlap bag. The store owner had not even provided holes for Harry to breathe in, and he was forced to take in small, short breaths. Snape had thrown the bag roughly over his shoulder, so Harry was forced to experience a painful jab every time Snape took a step. Distantly he could hear the chatter of people around him…people who had no idea that he, Harry, was somehow stuck as a dragon and being kidnapped by Snape. Well, he wasn't going to stick around any longer. Harry didn't know what was going on, or why he was stuck as a dragon, but he was getting out. He had no time for this-he had to hunt down the Horcruxes and Voldemort, and then deal with Snape.

Cautiously, so not to make any noise, Harry tested the side of the bag with his claw. It was rough, hard fabric, obviously made to be dragon-proof. More persistently Harry tore at it, but his claw barley scratched the surface. Harry's heart began to race as he heard Snape's steps quicken. _What if he couldn't get out before they Apparated?_

Growling in frustration, Harry gave up all caution and started plummeting the bag with his claws. A moment later he nearly toppled over when Snape gave the bag a hard shake.

"Stop it, you!" he snapped, and Harry was left in silence. Mentally he sneered at Snape. _I'll get him back later, the murderer. _

Harry turned back to continue clawing at the bag when he saw a small light coming from outside. Excited, Harry poked his nose at the light. It was a hole-a hole the size of the tip of a thumb, but a hole nevertheless. He knew this was his only chance. Quietly Harry started to pull at the sack.

It took seconds for Harry's razor-sharp claws to rip apart the frayed fabric. Now he was looking down at the cobbled-stone street of Diagon Alley which, incidentally, looked a lot further down than it had before. and then-Harry remembered-his legs were frozen. His heart sank faster than a sinking ship. What was he going to do now?

_Think, Harry_ he mentally ordered himself, his brain throbbing in attempt to get ideas. He had gotten out of tough scraps before, and he could do it again. _My legs are frozen-I can't walk anywhere, and then Snape will find me. I can't jump, either-that won't work. _

As he thought, the bag shifted, flopping Harry onto his side. Angrily he tried to get up, but his wing crumpled beneath him, its weight bringing him down. Then it hit him. _Of course…why didn't I think of it before?_

Harry lay there, letting the bag turn him upright. Then he steadied himself on frozen feet and readied his wings. Harry felt the wind ripple his face and tear through his scales-it was a wonderful, free feeling.

Closing his eyes, Harry lifted his wings and took off into the streets of Diagon Alley.

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"Mum…it's going to be alright…it's okay…"

The Weasley's kitchen at Ottery, Saint Catchpole was filled with people. Almost everyone from the Order was there and Professor Mc Gonagall was standing in the kitchen as well as the Weasleys and Hermione Granger. Almost every face was filled with worry and anger, and an anxious and angry Ron was comforting his sobbing mother.

"I can't believe it." Mad-eye Moody growled. "I'll admit, Potter has done some stupid things in the past, but this is by far the most stupid thing he's ever done. Why on earth would Potter just pack up and lea-" He was cut off by a sharp jab in the ribs from Kinglesy Shacklebolt, who was watching Mrs. Weasley with a wary eye. Ron's eyes visibly tensed at his words, and Hermione looked away with an already tear-stained face. Even Fred and George's vibrant red hair seemed limp, and no ghost of a smile was present on their faces. Ginny was the only Weasley not present, shut up in her room. But it was Ron whose anger was pulsating the most.

"_Ron-you're like my brother, mate. We're friends. So don't feel like you are inferior to your brothers. You have your own talents, just like them, and we're going to prove it."_

How could he! How could Harry lie-promise that he and Hermione would be a chance to be by Harry's side for once, to prove their worth? How could Harry call him a brother, and then abandon him like this? Since he was young Ron wanted to be equal to someone, to not be looked down upon. And Harry had given him that chance-until now. Harry had betrayed him and Hermione, acted like they were nothing-useless to him, something that could be disposed of.

"We'll find him," cut in Tonks, her face half-covered with shoulder-length purple hair although it too appeared limper than usual. "It must have been a curse-any Death Eater could have written that note-"

But she, too, broke off at the look on Mrs. Weasley's face. Ron felt no surge of hope-he knew that Harry had written that letter. It explained his strange mood at the dinner table the night before his appearance.

"Well, then," said Professor McGonagall quietly, "we'd better get searching. Moody-would you organize the Order members into groups, and have someone go to the Ministry to alert them of Potter's disappearance?" Moody nodded, and motioned to the other Order members, who preceded him silently. Professor McGonagall made to leave, but stopped at the look on Mrs. Weasley's face. She walked over and patted her assuringly on the shoulder. "We'll find him, Molly, don't worry." Ron couldn't help but notice that her voice was cracked and her eyes had lost the small shine that they had once held. Moody, however, eyed Ron and Hermione with suspicion.

"You two," he barked, and everyone started and turned to him. "Do either of you have any idea where Potter would have gone?" Ron stiffened as Moody's revolving eye turned and made a stop at him. His heart quickened. He couldn't tell Moody or the Order about the Horcruxes-Harry had made him promise.

Harry. Since when did his opinion count anymore? A fiery anger, disobedience rose in him, but then Hermione caught his eye. Ever so slightly, she shook her head to the side. Ron opened his mouth to reply, unsure of what to do. His heart answered for him.

"N…no."

"Excuse me, Weasley?" Moody asked roughly, but Ron shook his head more defiantly.

"I don't know anything-Harry would never leave. Something's out of the ordinary." Ron squirmed-he could feel the others viewing him with wide eyes. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Hermione give a small smile and felt a tiny flare of triumph.

"Yeah," piped in Fred. He was glaring at Moody with a rather ugly look on his face. "Harry would never do something like that. As Ron said, something's wrong."

Moody took a minute to eye them all and then nodded curtly to the other Order members to follow him out the door. The door slammed, leaving a ringing silence in the room. Only Professor McGonagall and the Weasleys remained.

Professor McGonagall was staring down at the floor, distraught and lost in her thoughts. A few strands of hair had come out of her tight bun, giving her the appearance off a messy dog. Several tears ran down her face like diamonds. Ron stared. He had never seen Professor McGonagall loose control like this. After what seemed like hours, she looked up at them all.

"Good-bye," she muttered and left the Burrow, and somehow the room felt even colder and emptier without her absence. Ron glanced out the window and saw the trees silently swaying, and for the first time they seemed foreboding and dangerous. Silently, Ron wondered whether things would ever be normal again.

00000

"I can't believe this," Ron growled, slamming his fist onto the bedside table.

It was merely a day after the Order had come after Mrs. Weasley's frantic Floo Call, two days after they had discovered Harry's note lying on the desk and Hermione had burst into tears, two whole days since they last knew where Harry was. Rain was pounding on the windows with a merciless tremor, rattling the windows and shaking the entire house. A fierce wind was billowing through a crack in Ron's window, but neither of them noticed. Ron looked up and saw Hermione watching him with apprehension. Anger burned in him like a flame leaping from the hearth.

"What?" Ron yelled, rounding on her. Hermione shrank back from him, but the worry in her eyes remained unchanged. "Don't I have the right to be angry that our best friend just disappeared right from under our noses?"

"Yes, of course you should," said Hermione quickly, her voice shaking. Ron looked up and saw Hermione hurriedly wiping her nose and then turning away, her hair covering her face in a thick veil. "It's just-it's just-"

"What's wrong?" asked Ron in concern. He stood there awkwardly, not knowing whether he should try and comfort her.

"It-it's just everything! First Sirius, then Dumbledore, and now Harry's left us too! We've never been safe, even with Dumbledore around, and now he's gone! And Harry's left us too-as if he never valued our friendship at all! He's a different person-ever since he went with Dumbledore on that mission he's changed, and I don't care what you or Moody or anyone else says, he ran away himself! And then last week, him and Ginny-you should see her!"

"I know," Ron began angrily, but Hermione continued as if there had been no interruption.

"She's a complete mess. Ever since then she hasn't come out of her room, and she's been crying all the time. Now that Harry's gone…" Hermione sighed. "I don't know what's going to happen with her." Hermione looked up at Ron anxiously.

"Harry's going to regret ever running away," snarled Ron. "I'll knock some sense into him, and I'll never let him out of my sight again! How dare he do this to us?"

Then his eyes met Hermione's, and he broke down into silent sobs, resting his head on Hermione's shoulder.

"Why did he have to leave?" he sobbed, trying to quell his tears, but they fell as fast and fluently as the rain outside. Hermione put her arms around him, and they sat and cried together, for themselves and Harry.

00000

It was a wonderful feeling, being back out into the open air and away from the stuffy contents of the bag. Harry bared his teeth in a triumphant grin as he soared away from Snape and into the outskirts of Diagon Alley. No one seemed to notice him-they were occupied with the contents of the shops surrounding him, and in the crowded alley he was as free as a bird.

Harry imagined Snape's face when he saw the vacant bag and snorted, steam coming out of both his nostrils. Laughing silently to himself he continued on, his wings flapping as freely and gracefully as if he had been doing it all his life. Harry would have laughed out loud if not in fear of being caught. It was like being on his Firebolt again except freer.

For the first time since his departure, Harry felt no regret at running away. He'll find a way to transform himself back, and then he'll go look for the Horcruxes. Ron and Hermione were safe at the Burrow and once he was done he'll meet up with them again, and they would forgive him. But the notion failed as Harry saw Ron's face in his mind.

Ron's face was cold and distant, as if something had been taken away. A stab of pain went through Harry, interrupting his brief moment of joy. Harry shook himself mentally, forcing the image of Ron's face away.

Harry dove in between shoppers, low enough so he could hear them but high enough so he could not be seen. He swooped down too low on a witch he was passing over, nearly catching her hat.

"Oh…sorry," said Harry out of habit, but all that came out of his mouth was a strange grunt. The witch looked up but Harry dove quickly out of sight, passing over Quality Quidditch Supplies in his haste to be unseen. A few seconds later she turned back to her companion, and Harry dropped down again.

"…as I was saying, strange things are happening lately, Harry Potter's disappearance especially…"

His disappearance? Surely they wouldn't have told anyone about him leaving? Harry's heart began hammering very fast, and he flew away from the witch. As he neared Madam Mulkin's, he saw a purple sign fastened to a pole nearby, with his description and a reward offered for his return. Harry stared at his own picture, treading in midair. His own green eyes and messy hair stared back at him complete with heavy circular frames. Harry remembered the picture-it was his end-of-the year picture.

Harry stared at the poster in disbelief. They were acting like he was some sort of runaway, a criminal! Wasn't this what Harry had chosen to do? Couldn't they just leave him in peace for once? He wasn't a child!

Yet here he was, with fangs and claws, hovering in midair above a crowded Diagon alley. In the first few hours of his departure, he had been stranded in a forest, taken captive by a psycho-dragon keeper, bought by Snape, and nearly taken with him! No one would no it was him-there was no trace of a lightning-bolt scar on his forehead, no sign. And even worse, if he had changed back while in Snape's company…things wouldn't have been worse.

And then-as if angels were calling to him, he heard a familiar voice.

"Reckon we should put a poster up here?"

The anger in Harry's heart melted on the spot. Any anger or resentment was gone-Ron was standing at one end of Diagon Alley, a bunch of purple posters in one hand and thumbtacks in another. Hermione, Mr. Weasley, and Ginny were also putting up posters, unwillingly, Harry saw the desperation in Ginny's eyes.

"More couldn't hurt," returned Mr. Weasley, trickles of sweat running from his orange hair onto his lined face. "Go on, put them up."

Ron turned, and Harry sped towards Ron at full speed, forgetting all about his uncertainty about his friends. A rush of excitement and relief went through him-they were here, he was safe. He was feet from Ron-a few more inches and he would be there-

"OH MY GOD! IT'S A DRAGON!"

Harry stopped dead and looked down to see a young boy pointing at him with a stricken expression. Every single head turned to where Harry was frozen in midair, their faces shocked. Harry could feel himself freeze-his insides turned to ice and his heart sunk like a stone. From where he was he could see Ron and Hermione gaping at him as well, and then in a moment-he saw them fumble for their wands.

Friends or not, Harry wasn't going to stick around. He took off at full speed, darting jets of light that must have been Stunners and flying over the heads of screaming people. Pandemonium broke out-there were people running everywhere, all screaming, _Dragon! DRAGON! _

He had never wanted to get away so fast in his life. Harry pushed at the air frantically with his wings, desperate to get away from the screams of the crowd. It was punishing his already sensitive ears. Some of the spells caught boxes piled up outside stores and they burst into flame, the fire eating away at merchandise and turning the air into smoke.

As he flew Harry could feel the tiredness eating away at him-it was getting harder and harder to dodge the spells now, and the jets of light were becoming more and more consistent. Angry shouts arose from the street below, and it seemed that they wanted him dead, not alive.

Five jets of light suddenly came shooting towards him. Harry dodged the first one, nearly ramming right into a screaming witch. His talon scraped the ground-and he was barley up again, his whole body screaming with exhaustion. Three more spells came wizzing past him. The air was thick with smoke now-all he could see were the spells being fired at him, and the smoke burned at his eyes.

_Wham! _A fiery, hot pain surged through his back and Harry screeched as the force of the spell knocked him over, paralyzing him. All the fight seemed to go out of him and limbs turned to water. Harry fell, oblivious to the triumphant cries of the people around him at their success. With a sickening crunch the ground came up to meet him and Harry felt his wings give way, twisting at an unnatural angle.

Harry knew it was over now-there were people bending over him, shouting incoherent words, but he couldn't hear a thing. Then a man in a dark cloak came towards him and Harry's stomach lurched. Somehow, the man was terribly familiar.

In the background Harry could make out the faces of Ron, Hermione, Ginny and Mrs. Weasley, but they were in the back of the crowd. Harry tried to speak to them but all that came out was a small croak in the back of his throat.

The hooded man bended over him. Harry looked up hesitantly and was terrified to see greasy black hair hanging over Snape's sallow face.

"Well, you've caused quite a lot of trouble, haven't you, little one?" he whispered, a nasty smile caressing his face as he looked down at Harry. He spared Harry one last glance and then turned away, giving him a view of the bright blue sky. Harry saw another bag being lowered over his head, but was too tired to care and embraced the quiet darkness. He could hear Snape saying something, perhaps about all the damages he had caused, but could barley make the words out. All he could think about was how much he just wanted to go back with Ron and Hermione, and their faces shone clearly in his mind as darkness overtook him eased him into a silent sleep.

A/N: Harry's in trouble again, isn't he? I love writing Snape-he's quite the bitter and sarcastic character.

A note on Harry's size-he's actually four or five feet long so he would be pretty noticeable. It's not every day you see a dragon, is it? Of course, the people overreacted-pretty typical. Also, this story isn't slash-sorry for all you slash fans.

Next chapter we finally get to see where Snape takes Harry.

The name poll for Harry is still up-cast your votes now!

Thank you for the great reviews-they really inspired me to write the chapter, and hopefully I'll get the next one up soon. Thanks to **ShadowHunter Mashell, Olaf74, Fleetfoot, BattleWiz88 **and** meatofevil **for reviewing last chapter!


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5-In the Manor

Harry opened his eyes to pitch blackness. He was swallowed in darkness, his open eyes useless. It was cold, very cold. Harry quietly folded his wings against himself. He was rewarded with slight warmth but the cold continued to dig into him, biting at the loose scales on his body.

As he huddled on an invisible spot on the floor his mind seemed to rewind to the previous events of the day. He was trapped by Snape, now alone in a dark room…._Snape must have taken me here_, Harry thought angrily. Furiously he bounded through the darkness, trying to find a way out. All of a sudden his nose burned with pain as it cracked against a metal surface and he yelped, tilting his head up to stifle the bleeding. Obviously he was in some sort of cage or metal room.

Carefully, as not to bump his nose again he made his way around the room, feeling the walls. They were all a solid metal and none gave way. Defeated, Harry sat down in the middle of the room. Suddenly he was filled with claustrophobia and fear, and it took every ounce of him not to cry out.

Minutes melted into hours as he sat there, confused thought after confused thought racing around his brain. Horrible fears of starving to death in the room, of never seeing the light again…he might have fallen asleep along the way, he did not know it…until there was a sound from far, far, away and Harry lifted himself up.

Light flooded the small room he was in, and Harry squinted as it grew nearer. A small, bobbling lantern was high above him and through a small barred window Harry could see the form of a person. Harry tensed himself, instincts telling him to attack. The soft patter of footsteps drew nearer and he waited, claws unsheathing themselves from under his wings.

Harry watched in anticipation as the footsteps stopped in front of the room. Then a door swung open, breathing light into the tiny room. Harry looked up and saw to his immense surprise, the pale and sneering face of Draco Malfoy. Harry felt some of the fear leave him, but he still cowered slightly at his towering figure. Despite his lack of fear for him he was still much smaller than Malfoy, and he seemed to know it. Harry glanced over his face and once again saw a sniping, conceited Malfoy rather than the one he had seen on the tower weeks earlier. It was hard to believe he had once felt pity for him.

"So, this is it?" Malfoy sneered, his dark eyes surveying Harry scathingly. Harry felt a surge of anger that had nothing to do with his hatred towards Malfoy. "Pity you're not bigger, you would make a good mount." Eyeing Harry as if pending the idea he said, "Snape wants to see you. Let's go." Malfoy stepped into the room and closed the door behind him and Harry knew that there was no use in fighting. Hating himself, he allowed Malfoy to apprehensively pick him up in his hands and walk out the door, leaving the darkness behind.

xxx

Snape was sitting at his desk and pretending to work. There were heaps of files that needed looking through, but his mind was preoccupied. Somehow he couldn't stop thinking about the dragon's hastily planned escape, and the chaos that had followed afterwards. It was lucky that he had managed to capture the stupid thing in time and had not been exposed. But the dragon…it was strange it had such animosity towards him, from the moment it had first seen him it had flared up in rage. Snape had never seen such personality in magical creatures towards their masters, and he would have to study this one. Interesting…

He heard footsteps outside his door and hastily picked up his quill and grabbed a spare bit of parchment. He knew it must be Draco. Sure enough, moments later a hand knocked sharply on his door.

"Come in."

Draco rushed into the room, his eyes wild and his forehead covered with sweat. Snape watched the boy, half amused and half confused, until he saw an extremely content dragon resting in Draco's hands, which were swaddled with blood.

"The stupid thing…it bit me!" Draco exclaimed as he ran up to Snape's desk, panting. "It tried to escape twice-luckily it ran into a dead end." He thrust the dragon into Snape's hands, where it looked up lazily at him, an almost evil twinkle in its eye.

"I am sorry it bit you, Draco," Snape said unconcernedly, "but this dragon seems to have quite the temperament. Maybe another day in its room will help it calm down…" Almost immediately, the smile seemed to drop off the dragon's face. "However, I must keep this imbecile of a creature, it is far too valuable to let go. Its magical powers will protect us against intrusion, and so the occasion arise, eventually it will be able to aide us on missions that the Dark Lord wishes us to do." An unconformable feeling rose in Snape as he said this, and perhaps Draco caught it for he blurted out, "What kind of mission are you talking about?"

"Never you mind," said Snape dismissively. "Now, I think it would be prudent for the dragon to stay with you, at least for awhile. This is because," he started, as Draco opened his mouth in protest, "you have a lot more time on your hands than I do. All the books that you will need to train him will be found in the library, and remember: all creatures need food." He smiled a strange smile at Draco, who looked frightened at the prospect. "I am sure you will not regret this, Draco. It seems you need some company and although he will be returned to me soon, it will be good for you to be aquainted as well. The first thing you will need for him is a name. Inform me when you think you have found a good one." With that he waved an airy hand at Draco, who scooped up the dragon and quickly left the room.

Forty-five minutes later, after chasing the dragon halfway around the manor and sustaining many hand injuries Draco stuffed the yelping, furious dragon into a small bird cage and slammed the door shut, charming into so its razor-sharp claws could not rip the metal open. It glared at him, its green eyes scathing. He smirked and tapped the lock, then carried the screaming creature to Snape's huge library.

Every time he entered he was astonished at the amount of books in the library. Green velvet drapes covered the vast windows and a foot of dust was stacked on top of the bookshelves. He could see mothballs scattered around the library and heard the dragon sneeze, a tiny puff of fire coming out from its nostrils. Smirking slightly at the creature who was now sneezing vioently he set the cage on a table and took off for looking for books.

_Name…first thing I need is a name. _

Scanning the shelves, Draco could see all of the books on studies of dragons…_Living with Dragons._ _How to Tame a Dragon. Mythical Dragons in History. _

Draco pulled _Mythical Dragons in History_ from its place on the shelf and opened it. Strangely enough, it seemed to be absent from the dust that covered the other books. He flipped through the pages and although he hated to admit it, the magnificent pictures of dragons that covered the pages mystified him. Slowly he flipped through oblivious to what he was supposed to be doing, until he remembered. _Name…what name?_

He looked around at the dragon and smirked. It was hissing at him, red sparks flying from its mouth in anger. Its blue scales shone clearly in the moonlight and they arched as the dragon hissed at him, pawing at the door begging to be freed. Looking back at the book, Draco searched over the names. _Drake, Tevok, Puff, Scalis, Clawtex. _No, he didn't like any of those. He looked over again at the dragon, who was spreading its wings and hissing. He remembered Snape talking about the dragon's strange intelligence, about its unexplained hatred towards him. Then something clicked. "I know just what to name you," he said, looking at the book.

And then he heard a noise-a shattering of glass. Draco sat bolt upright, staring at the window. Staring at the window and clutching his wand so hard in his right hand that he feared it might break Draco waited with baited breath. And then he saw a rush of wind, tearing back his hair and knocking into him at such force that he fell over, the wind circling around him like dementors closing in on their prey. He opened his mouth to scream but nothing came out and there was only darkness, traveled by the swirling wind, closing in on him.

From somewhere in the manor, Snape smiled.

xxx

A/N: I was going to give the name here but I'll give you all some more time to vote. :) PS-Snape is still going to be the main caretaker of Harry, he is merley allowing Draco the chance to stretch his wings a bit and get to know Harry.


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